Don't Look
by cleolatte
Summary: A short story based on Marble Hornets and the popular Slender game. First Fanfic, please comment how to improve etc. Part 2 eventually. :P


The cold night air of the woods leaches the warmth from the back of my exposed neck as I climb unsteadily over the rusted chain-link fence. I reach the top of the fence and jump onto the hard leaf-covered ground. The jolt of the fall does nothing to help my pounding headache which I've suffered with for days now and I began to walk into the forest ahead of me.

I don't want to be here; I say to myself, I don't _need _to be here. But, here I am, in the middle of a deserted forest, looking for what exactly? I lift my handheld camera, quickly scanning the area. Empty. See? Nothing there. I stop myself when I realise I've been walking for about 10 minutes now. That's when I see it. A sheet of lined paper, taped loosely to a gnarled, twisted tree in the clearing ahead. Without my command, my feet run unevenly towards it. I grab it with both hands and devour the contents with my eyes. Finally, some answers.

Don't Look, Can't hide, Run.

That is what I can see scrawled on the page in uneven charcoal marks, but I can't take it in. My headache has spread to my eyes now; I can feel it throbbing behind my retina. I rub my eyes and decide to take the note's advice. Suddenly, the trees feel like looming towers overhead; trapping me within their wooden cage. But I decide that with entrapment comes safety. Safety from what has ruined my life. Safety from what I can't even see. And don't want to see. I continue running.

The sounds of night slowing disappear, replaced by the sound of my own rapid breathing. I slow and sweep the area with my camera again. I press the play button. I fast-forward through my arrival until when I found the note. I see myself run off into the woods. And keep running. Then I watch as I stop and find a small dilapidated shack. I don't remember this. I rub my temples as I continue to watch.

I walk into this small shack through the empty doorway. Through my shaky camera work, I see a brick fireplace and nothing else. The shack is darker than the woods. I see another one of the pages on the mantle of the fireplace as my past self approaches. My footsteps can no longer be heard. The microphone or something must have broken. As my hand stretches towards the note, the view is flung behind me, back to the door and static explodes from the camera's speakers and fills the screen. The last thing I can make out is a black figure. Then there is no video or audio until a few minutes ago when I stopped running. I snap shut the screen of the camera and begin walking again. This time back the way I came, back to the shack in the video.

It must be about 2:00AM when I finally give in. I sigh and look around, seeing nothing but rows of trees. I don't know why I don't remember going to that shack; maybe that person drugged me. And broke my video camera? Unlikely at best. My headache is becoming unbearable now. I start to walk back to the fence but remember I don't know where I am. I pick a random direction and set off, deciding it's probably better than standing still.

The hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up and I become disorientated every couple of minutes. I blame the flu or some benign mental illness but then I turn round instinctively and I can deny nothing anymore.

He is there, barely visible 20 metres away behind a tree. I assume he is male, due to smart attire; a full suit with a red thin tie. I don't know if it's the dark but I can't make out his face. Pain spikes through my head. I'm not the person to let someone follow me but for some reason, this being causing fear to rise up within me. I can't bear to look at it anymore, and turn to run. Run as fast as I can. Anywhere. But something tells me I can't. The memory surfaces. _Don't look, Can't hide, Run. _Well, I'm doing the third. I want to hide. I definitely don't want to look. I wonder how the author of this note knew this would happen and where they are. The thought is pushed out my mind. I don't want to know.

I begin to tire after about five minutes of running for my life. I resign to a fast jog. Fear is replaced by curiosity. I turn my neck, to look behind. This time, he is out in the open around 10 metres away. How has he been able to keep up with me? I scream in my head. I am a keen athlete so how this entity has kept up with me and is stood, unmoving, behind me I don't know.

Every part of my body is telling me to run but I can't. I pant desperately, staring at the ground as if it holds the answers. What does he want? Why me?

I look up slowly, still out of breath. He is stood only a metre away and I see now he is faceless; his skin a pale grey. I fall to the floor, my camera smashing next to me. I cough violently as he approaches and numerous appendages sprout from his back. Two words stick in my head: Don't Look.


End file.
